Morning Texts
by TragicBlackButterfly
Summary: Quirrell always wakes up first and has to find something to do until Voldemort wakes up, and sometimes he just gets a little lonely. Based on AVPM (A Very Potter Musical). Quirrellmort/Quirrelmort. Rated for some language and suggestive talk.


**So on Tumblr, I was browsing and came upon one of those OTP prompts. For whatever reason, this happened. Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Harry Potter or StarKid. **

Quirrell always woke up early. No matter how hard he tried, he never could manage to sleep in past six o'clock in the morning. He blamed that mostly on his teaching days and partly on his inability to sleep in Azkaban. Fondly, he remembered how annoyed Voldemort used to get at his early rising when they were attached; now, Quirrell could slip from the bed undetected, get dressed, and be out of their bedroom without his partner so much as rolling over.

And so the former professor fell into his morning routine. He left the comfort of their bedroom and Voldemort's sleeping form to brew a fresh cup of morning tea and to tend his flowers. At this point, the garden was almost bursting with them now (Quirrell made a mental note to extend the parameters again), and his favorites had to be the beautiful patch of purple spotted _Snake's Head_. He didn't have many of the white variety anymore since Voldemort thought the purple looked much more sinister, and Quirrell couldn't deny that the purple ones did have their charm.

With a wave of his wand, he watched as the watering can hovered above the flowers, giving them all an equal dose of refreshment. Vaguely, he wondered what ever happened to doing things the muggle way, but his thoughts were mostly dominated by missing his old teaching position. He had loved teaching at Hogwarts, even if he hadn't been very good at it. Even if the only semester he'd taught had revolved around evil plans and murdering a twelve-year-old, as well as living with Voldemort on the back of his head and feeding off his soul.

"It was fun, though," he reassured the spotted purple bulbs as he pulled some weeds out of the flowerbed. "And I wouldn't change a single thing. No matter what! If things hadn't gone the way they did, I wouldn't be here with Voldemort and you, uh…poisonous little beauties!" He tried not to see the connection too much between his partner and his new flowers, even if he had planted them in the hope that Voldemort would like them.

_I came home_. Quirrell smiled at the memory of his reunion with the former Dark Lord. That had only been a couple months ago, but it still felt like ages. Hogwarts, Harry Potter, Azkaban… Since his new, peaceful existence began, everything felt so very far away, and sometimes it all felt so incredibly close, it scared the hell out of him. Biting his lip, he wished Voldemort was awake already; if anything ever made him feel better, it was his ex-Dark Lord.

But he'd never hear the end of it if he woke up Voldemort, and boy was that man capable of holding a grudge! Quirrell _still_ couldn't find his favorite goose feather pillow from the last time Voldemort got pissed at him (and he secretly prayed that Voldemort hadn't gone through with that old threat to eat it). He really wanted to talk to him, though…

Grinning, Quirrell pulled out his cell phone and pulled up his recent texts. With the celerity of a professor, he whipped up quick text to his partner._ Good morning, Voldemort! I'm in the garden when you get up._ He almost added an _I love you_ in there as well but hesitated. He wasn't sure if they were at _that_ stage yet, and he didn't want to scare Voldemort into anything prematurely. No declaration, then. In place of it, he added an innocent little heart and, very satisfied with that, sent the text. He stowed his phone away, and returned to pulling weeds.

Moments later, much to his surprise, his pocket buzzed. How odd. Usually, his partner slept through his good morning texts. Perplexed, he pulled out his phone to see Voldemort's responding text. _It's not even seven o'clock yet, Quirrell. Fuck off._

Shit! Quirrell couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled to his lips. The image of a disgruntled and groggy Voldemort being woken up by the sound of his phone definitely improved his morning. Sure, he might lose another pillow over it, but it had _so_ been worth it. He shoved the phone away again, humming to himself as he finished pulling weeds and waved his wand. The watering can vanished with a quiet _pop_, and the pile of weeds disappeared from around him. A sudden laziness struck him, and he contemplated returning to bed for some morning snuggling. Even Voldemort, as grumpy as he might be, would cave in if placated enough...

The rest of his thought was lost when he felt another buzz from inside his pocket. Quirrell swallowed, hardly able to contain his grin as he pulled out his phone once more, prepared for another grumpy text from Voldemort scolding him for disturbing his slumber. Or perhaps he was feeling guilty for snapping at Quirrell? What he got instead sent a very pleasurable feeling down to his abdomen.

_I love you too. Now get your ass back in bed._

Quirrell stood up and brushed the dirt off his knees, unable to stop the smirk from spreading this time. The flowers had been taken care of for now; time for Quirrell to go take care of his Dark King.

**Hope you enjoyed it, dearies! I'd love it if you dropped a little note and let me know what you thought. I'll try to whip up another little fic for you for Christmas. Happy holidays! **


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